Archenemy
by Haiza Tyri
Summary: A drabble series on the contentious and interesting relationship of Mycroft and Sherlock in the new modern-day Sherlock Holmes series called "Sherlock." Rating changed from K to T for discussions of suicide and drug addiction.
1. Perfect

**I love the new Sherlock Holmes series set in the modern day. Among other things, I was very intrigued by the alteration that was made in the relationship between the Holmes brothers. It doesn't follow the books, but I think it's marvelous, and I wanted to write a series of drabbles that explored its history. (P.S. My drabbles are exactly 100 words, no more, no less. A delightful exercise.)  
**

**

* * *

_Perfect_  
**

"Mycroft, how would you like a baby brother?"

Mycroft knew already, of course. It didn't take a genius to deduce the truth from his mother's frequent nausea, irregular eating habits, and changing body. Still, a seven-year old wasn't supposed to know these things, so he smiled and said, "Really and truly? A brother?"

"Really and truly. I think you'll make a perfect older brother. He'll be yours to protect and take care of."

"I'll be perfect, Mummy. What'll we call him?"

"What do you think?"

Mycroft didn't even have to think. He had his favorite name picked out already. "Sherlock."


	2. Mischief

_Mischief_

"Sherlock, stop it!"

"But I want to see. I know I'm right," Sherlock said doggedly.

"I don't care. You'll get into trouble."

"You mean _you'll_ get into trouble with Mummy, and you _hate_ getting into trouble. But I don't see why _you_ hating to get into trouble should keep _me_ from finding out what I want to find out."

When Sherlock found out that he was right about Mr Kerrigh wearing a toupee, it was Mycroft who got into trouble, because of course four-year-old boys don't think up these sorts of things for themselves without encouragement from their eleven-year-old brothers.


	3. Death

_Death_

After their father's funeral, no one knew where Sherlock was—no one except Mycroft, who made it a point to always know where Sherlock was. He found him in that little unused room, more of a closet than anything, huddled on the floor, his head down on his knees, rocking back and forth. Seven years ago, Mycroft had dreamed of taking care of his baby brother, and Sherlock had rarely ever let him. But now when Mycroft put his arm around him, he did nothing more than stiffen slightly, and maybe he even leaned into his older brother a little.


	4. Disappointment

_Disappointment_

It should have been so satisfactory, having a brother like Sherlock. No one else had a younger brother whose brain could keep up with theirs. They could have been such companions. Mycroft could have helped Sherlock with his school work, when being in the fifth form became overwhelming for an eight-year old. They could have discussions about things no one else understood, because they both understood the world in ways no one else did. No none in the world had brains like theirs.

If only Sherlock wasn't so blasted proud, independent, and troublesome! It was enough to make Mycroft insane.


	5. Pathology

_Pathology_

"I know what's wrong with you."

"There's nothing wrong with me," Sherlock said abstractedly. He was lying face-down on the road, sniffing something.

"There is, though. I've been trying to figure it out for eight years, and finally I found the answer. You're a sociopath."

Sherlock didn't ask what that was: he hated to admit he didn't know something. But his head came up a little, tilted, his strange, pale grey eyes against the untidy shock of his black hair curious and interested. It wasn't true, of course, but for Mycroft it was enough to make him believe it was.

* * *

**Author's note: Thank you, thank you, thank you to rabidsamfan for letting me run with the idea that Mycroft planted the seeds for Sherlock's desire to be a sociopath when they were fifteen and eight years old. Here is rabidsamfan's wonderful drabble on the subject (I highly recommend them all): **

**http:/www . fanfiction . net/s/6192506/6/Drabbles_of_Deduction**


	6. Guilt

_Guilt_

Mummy was worried about Sherlock, and Mycroft had no one to blame but himself. So it had been a mistake, letting his temper get the better of him and taunting Sherlock with a big word he knew his little brother didn't know and a big psychological diagnosis he didn't think his little brother could understand. How was he to know Sherlock would march to the nearest bookshop and research it in the latest psychological handbook? How was he to know that instead of feeling insulted, Sherlock would seize that little label and do his best to live up to it?

* * *

**Author's note: Thank you, thank you, thank you to rabidsamfan for letting me run with the idea that Mycroft planted the seeds for Sherlock's desire to be a sociopath when they were fifteen and eight years old. Here is rabidsamfan's wonderful drabble on the subject (I highly recommend them all): **

**http:/www . fanfiction . net/s/6192506/6/Drabbles_of_Deduction**


	7. Balance

_Balance_

There were occasions when conversation came easily, when they both looked at the same man and knew the same thing about him, when a scientific book Mycroft brought home interested them both, when Sherlock actually consented to listen to his older brother's greater knowledge of the world. They could sit down to a game of chess or Go and forget themselves over the intricacies of the game. Mycroft nearly always won at chess, but Sherlock nearly always won at Go. There was a pleasing balance to that which made the game boards their one retreat from the field of battle.


	8. Well Regulated

_Well-Regulated_

Sherlock often complained of boredom. Mycroft couldn't quite see why. The well-regulated mind ought to provide its own stimulation. A chap didn't have to rush about looking at things and finding excitement to keep his mind sharp and in working order. All he had to do was sit quietly and think about what his own mind provided for him. Sherlock, after all, was a genius, just like Mycroft, and what was more, he was a genius who refused to let others influence the state of his emotions, so why should he require them to influence the working of his mind?


	9. Bored

_Bored_

The first time he saw that Sherlock was hiding a split lip from Mummy, Mycroft said nothing. The second time, he removed the dark sunglasses Sherlock was defiantly sporting, examined the black eye, and demanded, "Why do you let them do that? You're smarter than those idiots are."

"Well, it makes life interesting, doesn't it?"

"You let them beat you up because you're _bored?"_

"Pain is just another part of life to be understood. I don't run away from it like you do."

Mycroft bit his tongue. "There's something wrong with you."

"I know. You already told me that."


	10. Self Defense

_Self-Defense_

Mycroft only defended Sherlock once from the bullies, bigger boys of twelve and thirteen who couldn't stand to have a slender, arrogant little genius in their neighborhood, paying not a bit of attention to them unless it was to prove how stupid they were. Mycroft was a tall, heavy boy, and he seized two of them by their collars and knocked their skulls together.

Sherlock, lying on the ground and wiping blood away, glared up at his brother. "I didn't ask for your help!" he shouted.

Mycroft loomed over him. "Then learn self-defense, Sherlock. That's an order. You're upsetting Mummy."


	11. Weak

_Weak_

Chess again. It was the only time they could actually get along. But this time Sherlock was still agitated and annoyed over some stupid argument earlier. For a boy who prided himself on his unemotional response to people, he had more moods than Mycroft did.

Sherlock lost, as usual, and after sitting and staring in silence at the board, he picked it up and flung the whole thing across the room. Mycroft lunged to his feet and grabbed him by the shoulders.

"_Never_ lose your temper! It makes you weak."

Sherlock stared at him out of suddenly cool grey eyes.


	12. Upsetting

_Upsetting_

"Mycroft, I wish you would stop carping on Sherlock."

Mycroft observed her, lying in her darkened room with her hand over her eyes. "Carping, Mum? You told me when he was born that he was my responsibility. When Dad died, you told me I was the man in the family. I'm only trying to get him to behave like an ordinary, decent human being." _I'm only doing it for you. Why do I always get into trouble for his problems?_

Mummy said wearily, "Perhaps if you'd stop trying so hard it would work better."

Sherlock told him later, "Told you."


	13. Performance

_Performance_

"You worry about Sherlock too much," Mummy said. "What I want to talk about is your performance at school."

_"My_ performance? My attendance is perfect. My marks are perfect. All unlike Sherlock's, I may add."

"I've had notes from two of your tutors, Mycroft. They're worried about this following you have. They don't think it's healthy for a sixteen-year old to have followers who are the sons and daughters of powerful leaders and in their twenties."

"How would they know? They've never met a sixteen-year old in Oxford before. Don't worry, Mummy. When I'm in the government, they'll be useful."


	14. Rivalry

_Rivalry_

When Mycroft went to Oxford at sixteen (far too late, in his own opinion) and set out upon the plan of quiet advancement and unseen leadership that he had been planning for years (it was that biography of Prince Albert he read at age eight that did it), he could tell Sherlock was jealous and enraged. Neither had consulted with the other about their university ambitions, but it was obvious one school could not hold both of them.

"Going to Oxford, are you?" Sherlock said, calmly and contemptuously. "In that case, I'm going to Cambridge."

"I would expect nothing less."


	15. French

_French_

Mycroft was a bit iffy about bringing friends home from university, what with Sherlock's talent for antagonising people, but Lestrade was different. A patient young man, even-tempered, quiet sense of humour, with a good brain in him (unlike Sherlock, Mycroft was willing to consider that lesser mortals could have good brains) and ambitions to be more than a uniformed copper like his father. He was impressed by Sherlock, overlooking his peculiarities to see the possibilities beneath, but when Sherlock refused to speak to him in anything but French, he refused to understand, even though Mycroft knew he spoke perfect French.

* * *

**Author's note: I just realized that I contradicted the BBC's "Sherlock" in making him have met Lestrade as a teenager. Lestrade says they've known each other for five years, at the time of "Great Game," I think. However, it's a minor point, and I like my Lestrade bits, so I'm keeping them.**


	16. Russian

_Russian_

"He hasn't spoken a word to me in anything but Russian in weeks," Mummy sighed. "_Russian!_ He says it will be useful. Russian? No normal boy wants to learn Russian, Mycroft! Do you know what the neighbors are saying?"

"Nothing they haven't been saying for the past thirteen years, Mummy. He's quite right, of course, but I didn't know he was keeping up with world affairs so closely. He usually doesn't see anything past the reach of his immediate senses."

Mycroft didn't tell Mummy that he had been learning Russian too. He was going to need it in the future.


	17. Beginning

_Beginning_

"Sherlock, would you explain why I've had to come from Oxford to collect you at Scotland Yard? I understand you've been bothering the local police, too."

"No one will believe me." Sherlock's eyes blazed. "Just a kid, they say. Can't they tell that a superior intellect has no age restrictions? I have put my observations before them, and they _won't listen!_ He was murdered, I tell you! I have read all the reports in the papers very carefully. It is _obvious!_ Don't they _want_ to catch murderers?"

"You'll just have to catch him yourself," Mycroft said unsympathetically.

"Fine. I will."


	18. Jealous

_Jealous_

Sherlock never forgave Mycroft for convincing Mummy that fifteen was too young to go to university. He accused him of being jealous of his younger brother's superior talents, which Mycroft calmly shrugged off, knowing his younger brother's talents weren't superior, just different. He just wasn't ready, emotionally. He was too cold, too acerbic, too driven. No one would be able to handle a fifteen-year old like that.

Only to himself did Mycroft admit that yes, he was jealous. After all the trouble Sherlock had given him, there was no way he was going to university a year earlier than Mycroft.


	19. Loyalty

_Loyalty_

Mycroft had a talent Sherlock didn't have, and that was earning loyalty. This became evident as Sherlock's university career proceeded. Everyone admitted he was exceptionally brilliant; one of his chemistry papers was published in a prestigious journal and came to the attention of Scotland Yard's forensics department; people marveled at the wide variety of his interests and knowledge (as well as of his ignorance). But no one _liked_ him. Everyone had recognized that Mycroft was a young man who was going far and influencing powerful people, but no one knew where Sherlock was going, and no one wanted to follow.


	20. The Segregation of the Queen

**_Some Observations Upon the Segregation of the Queen_**

_Quiet_

They blamed each other when Mummy died. It was easier than blaming themselves. Neither had recognized her quiet influence in their lives until she was gone. They hadn't noticed how they kept their quarrels quiet to keep from disturbing her, how they tried to outdo each other in helping her when she was ill, how the idea of upsetting her upset _them_ so much they denied they had ever done it, how in everything she had done, she had been trying to make them both better people, better brothers, better men.

Now what was there left to tie them together?

_Fault_

After the funeral, no one knew where Sherlock was—no one except Mycroft, who made it a point to always know where Sherlock was. He found him sitting by the river, hunched up in his coat, a thin, long-limbed figure with wildly messy dark curls that he never bothered to have cut, looking suddenly younger than his seventeen years. Remembering a similar scene ten years ago, Mycroft sat down next to him and, after a moment, reached out a hand. But this time Sherlock jerked sharply away, scrambled to his feet.

"Don't you touch me! This is all _your_ fault!"

_Done_

Mycroft suspected Mummy had only waited until her responsibility for Sherlock's well-being was out of her hands. When Dad died, her light had gone out. For ten years she had headed her family, helped her young sons deal with their genius, worked to get them into Oxford and Cambridge at age sixteen; she had been, Mycroft considered reasonably, a perfectly adequate mother. But how often had her migraines really been bouts of extreme depression? Now that her youngest was a man, with a future, she was done with life. He hoped Sherlock hadn't deduced that. He was afraid he had.

* * *

**Author's Note: The title, of course, comes from a handbook on beekeeping written by canon!Holmes during his retirement in the first decade of the 1900s.**


	21. Spies

_Spies_

It worked perfectly at university. Sherlock's first roommate would have moved out after less than a week if not for the handsome remuneration from Mycroft for some harmless prying and snitching. As it was, he lasted the whole term. The next roommate lasted nearly a term, the third barely a month. Sometimes Mycroft wondered if Sherlock knew and was driving them away on purpose, was making himself out to be even more inhuman than he was just to make his brother worry. Still, they were successful, with their watching and snooping. That was how he found out about the cocaine.


	22. Interested

_Interested_

It did not escape Mycroft that Sherlock's cocaine use started in his second year at Cambridge, the year Mummy died. Of course Sherlock would never admit that. He had many logical reasons for occasional stimulant use.

"It is so _boring_ here sometimes," Sherlock drawled maddeningly. "I have to invent my own projects to keep from sheer insanity. Do you know what it's like being bored and having your own brain running round in circles in the middle of the night? Cocaine keeps me _interested._ Even in useless things like the astronomy class they're making me take. Now, go away, Mycroft."


	23. Healthier

_Healthier_

"So instead of getting beat up, you take coke. Getting beat up would be healthier."

"Thanks to you, I can no longer get beat up. I already have black belts in four different martial arts. I thought about taking up boxing, but cocaine is more stimulating."

Too bad for that, Mycroft thought. He might have considered sending out some of his own men to distract his little brother's restless mind. A bit drastic, maybe, having your brother beat up, but Sherlock was a man of odd extremes, and drastic measures were often called for when you were dealing with Sherlock.


	24. Gift

_Gift_

During the Christmas holiday, Mycroft had Sherlock kidnapped. They never celebrated Christmas anyway. The best gift an older brother could give his younger brother was a return to complete health and mental clarity. The cocaine use was only a minor habit, but a habit was a habit, and Sherlock's mind was too valuable to waste on artificial stimulation. The kidnapping was deceptively simple, like everything Mycroft did, and Sherlock was too wasted to deduce who was behind it. He held him for one week, enough time to get him through withdrawal, and then let him escape.

Happy Christmas, baby brother.


	25. Pitt

_Pitt_

They called him a second Pitt. Of course that was inaccurate, because Pitt the Younger had gone to Cambridge at fourteen, not to Oxford at sixteen, and by the time _he_ was twenty-four, he was Prime Minister. Mycroft had no intention of being Prime Minister. So _public._

No, Mycroft was no Pitt. History would not know his name. But anytime a schoolchild read a 20th and 21st Century history book, he would be reading Mycroft Holmes' legacy. He would never know that a man as young and talented as Pitt was behind so many of the dull facts he read.


	26. Nicotine

_Nicotine_

Sherlock was sitting back in a brocaded armchair, his dark head resting against one of the wings, dragging deeply on a hand-rolled, unfiltered cigarette. Mycroft waved away the smoke irritably. "Smoking now, Sherlock?"

"It helps me think."

"I don't see why you require external assistance in your thought processes! Really, Sherlock. You with your precious disregard for your body; if you don't treat your body well, it won't carry your brain."

"This from the man who is a hundred pounds overweight."

Mycroft flushed. "My work does not give me much opportunity for exercise. It doesn't require that I ingest carcinogens."


	27. Invitation

_Invitation_

"You need to get out, Sherlock. Out of Cambridge. It's the Long Vacation! Go somewhere! The country, maybe. You're driving yourself crazy here."

"Stay out of my life, Mycroft," Sherlock said absently. "I don't need your interference. Never have."

Mycroft left, but he had no intention of staying out of Sherlock's life. He contacted an acquaintance, who contacted a friend, who made a call. But before he could finagle an irresistible invitation for his brother, Sherlock told him, "You're getting your wish. I'm leaving Cambridge for a few weeks. Invitation to Norfolk."

"With whom?"

"Brilliant chemistry student named Victoria Trevor."


	28. Intimate

_Intimate_

Mycroft didn't dare hope this brilliant chemistry student was a romantic interest. In the one conversation he had ever had with his brother about Sherlock's intimate relationships, or lack of them, Sherlock told him, with a shade of amusement, "I've tried it, you know. One ought to try everything once."

"And?"

He gave an indifferent shrug. "What you are pleased to call 'intimacy' is not for me, Mycroft. It's a distraction from what's really important, completely takes over the brain and behavior, provides little return, has no logical purpose if you don't intend to procreate. It's worse than any drug."

* * *

**The interview stated above does not necessarily reflect the views of the author, who is a celibate Christian and thinks intimacy is a magnificent thing, within the bounds of marriage. ****:) However, it seems perfectly logical for Sherlock.  
**


	29. Musical

_Musical_

Mycroft sent a woman down to the Norfolk estate of the Trevors, an acquaintance of one of the Honourable Victoria Trevor's cousins. She reported back to him that it was a musical party. A famous American soprano named Gloria Scott was to be there for a week, among others. Mycroft hadn't been aware that Sherlock was fond of opera. It made him wonder uneasily what other things his brother was interested in that he was unaware of. Violin, yes, though he couldn't quite call that infernal caterwauling noise he made on it music. When had he become interested in opera?


	30. Games

_Games_

"How did it go at the Trevors'?"

"Well, I gave an old man a heart attack and got a world-famous soprano arrested for murder and espionage." Sherlock said it wearily, but Mycroft was not fooled. His brother was very pleased with himself. "The Gloria Scott Affair," as it was called rather over-dramatically in the papers, was hailed as "a triumph for the English police force, long laboring under a hit-and-miss, trial-and-error technique." No credit was given to an eighteen-year-old Cambridge student, but Sherlock didn't care. He had beat the police, MI-6, the government—and Mycroft himself—at their own game.


	31. Learning

_Learning _

When Lestrade stood up for Sherlock, Mycroft realized that he had been wrong. His brother _was_ capable of inspiring loyalty. It took longer for him, more concerted effort, more effort at recognizing the needs and aspirations of other people. His genius lay in looking at people and comprehending all the physical details of their lives, while understanding what was inside them and what motivated them did not come naturally. Maybe he'd crippled his full potential by deciding to be a sociopath at age eight. But now he was learning, and he had the respect of a good man like Lestrade.


	32. Spider

_Spider_

"Why do you cultivate Lestrade? He's not intelligent enough for your circle, just a dull, plodding little man."

"He'll make Chief Inspector someday. If he's very lucky, Chief Superintendent."

Sherlock was not impressed.

"He is useful. Always has been. He's a good man, and a man of power needs good men as well as great ones, men who remain at the edges of his operations and provide information and assistance at a moment's notice. Think of him as the sensitive edge of a web."

"You and your webs."

"You would do well to cultivate a few webs of your own."

* * *

**Author's note: Thank you to my friend Pickwick12 (http:/ www . fanfiction . net/u/1214254/Pickwick12) for pointing out that Mycroft is just as much of a spider as Moriarty. **


	33. Hound

_Hound_

Mycroft tried to see Sherlock once every couple of months whilst he was in university. He could just have sent people to keep an eye on him while he sat back and directed their movements (he did that anyway), but this was his brother, the only responsibility important enough for him to leave his centre of operations to look after himself. Sherlock complained that he was "hounding" him, which was ridiculous. Anyway, if he didn't "hound" him every once in a while, he would forget to eat, forget to sleep, work himself to death. Mycroft was only doing his job.


	34. Deductions

_Deductions_

Sherlock was in a manic mood, the kind Mycroft had only seen him in when, as a child, he was involved in something very troublesome, such as setting fire to one side of the shed with petrol and the other side with some very expensive brandy to measure their combustibility, and when, just last year, he was taking cocaine to stave off boredom. But now it was different. Seemed Sherlock was popular these days. Students were coming to him with problems to solve, big and little. He didn't care about the popularity. It was the grand game that enlivened him.


	35. Factual

_Factual_

"I don't understand why you joined the government in the first place."

"I don't understand why you want to join the police force."

"I don't want to join the police force! Just because _your friend_ asked for my help solving a couple of cases doesn't mean I'm selling my soul, if I've got one. But you—you sold yours long ago. Sitting in an office all day, pulling strings, making people jump. Little people. You could have put your brain to much better use."

"Why, thank you, Sherlock."

"It wasn't intended as a compliment! Just a plain statement of fact."


	36. Missing

_Missing_

Sherlock had been missing now for four weeks. _Missing_ might not have been quite the right word; he had disappeared from Mycroft's careful oversight. Mycroft wasn't sure which dismayed him more, that his brother was out of his sight or that his brother had managed to slip through the invisible web of security around him. Should he worry about the myriad sorts of trouble Sherlock would get himself into or be concerned for his physical well-being without someone watching over him? Oh, yes, he was a genius, and geniuses, especially the really intelligent ones like Sherlock, were often very stupid.


	37. Ought

_Ought_

Mycroft tried to think of all the places Sherlock might be and what he might be doing. He might be in America, studying accents. He might be in prison for housebreaking (no sense of boundaries!). He might be floating dead in the Thames after having insulted the intelligence of a gang member. He might have joined MI-6 and would already be in deep cover in Iran. He might be sitting quietly in a flat laughing at his brother rushing around (metaphorically: Mycroft did not rush) to find him. Whatever he was doing, Mycroft _ought to be able to find him!_


	38. Change

_Change_

"Spare change for a cuppa?" the homeless man outside Mycroft's club rasped, holding out a plastic cup with thin hands shaking and blue in the cold. He was hunched into an old Army coat, Vietnam era, the thick, cracked lenses of his spectacles fogging with every rattling breath. Bronchitis. Ought to go to a doctor.

"No," Mycroft said and went quickly through the front gates. Only at the top step did he suddenly whirl around and stare wildly into the street. That huddle, the bony shoulders under thick cloth, had been only too familiar. But the homeless man was gone.


	39. Escape

_Escape_

Mycroft took off his coat, slumped into his favorite seat at the Hieronymus Club. Moments later he sprang up, staring as Sherlock calmly settled himself down on his haunches before the fire.

"By all that is unholy, Sherlock! You stink."

"Can't smell it, myself. Four weeks living under a bridge will do that."

"How did you—?"

"Get in here? Or escape from you in the first place? Please, Mycroft. You think I don't know about your little spies, your security cameras, your _networks?_ Having you for a brother is like being in jail. But easy enough to escape from."

* * *

**Author's note: In the books, Mycroft's club is called the Diogenes Club. Diogenes is a kind of hermit crab, so for his updated club, I chose the name of a famous hermit.**


	40. Homeless

_Homeless_

"So _this_ is how you celebrate your Christmas holidays? By becoming a homeless beggar for four weeks?"

"I am 'cultivating a few webs of my own.'"

"Among the _homeless?_ Are you mad?"

"You really are a snob, aren't you, Mycroft? The homeless know everything of importance on the street. They know who goes where, which soup kitchens are fronts for drug dealers, how to find the gang member or assassin the police can't find, how to not be seen when they don't want to be seen. All very useful."

"This is highly irregular, Sherlock!"

"Oh, yes. Most irregular." He grinned.


	41. Irregular

_Irregular_

Sherlock's irregularities continued through his last term at Cambridge and beyond. Whilst the rest of his class attended graduation exercises, he was taking trains up and down the length of Great Britain ("I didn't want to go to my graduation. Boring."). When they were finding jobs congruent with their degrees, he was studying migratory patterns of birds and the treads used by every major shoe manufacturer in the U.K. and the U.S. Between whiles, he sometimes found time to give Lestrade a hand and antagonise his colleagues. Mycroft worried he was never going to find his proper place in life.


	42. Business

_Business_

"No, I am not going to take a government position, Mycroft! When will you learn to keep your nose out of my business?"

"And what is your business, Sherlock? Undertaker's assistant? Bartender? Trash hauler? Casualty nurse?"

"Oh, you have been busy following me around, haven't you?

"I hate to see you running around in circles like this, wasting so much energy, taking menial jobs, not doing what's really important."

"That only proves how little you really know about me, Mycroft. You think I'm going to settle down and do _your_ bidding? Stop thinking you can read my mind. You can't."


	43. Stop

_Stop_

"My superiors want me to stop using Sherlock, Mycroft."

"That'll kill him."

"I know, but I'm about ready to kill him myself. If I go to him for help, half my team refuses to be part of the investigation. After what he said to young Anderson, the forensics assistant, last time, no one in the forensics department will let him near their evidence. Yes, he's helped close case after case, but meantime he's tearing up the whole division. My Chief Inspector says he's a menace, the Chief Superintendent says it's unprofessional to consult amateurs… What am I supposed to do?"


	44. Sorry

_Sorry_

"Bored bored bored bored bored," Sherlock said. "Are the criminal classes no longer taking an interest in their work? Have the police suddenly become so competent that they're actually _solving_ crimes now?"

Mycroft didn't know what to tell him. Should he tell him, "It's all your own fault, Sherlock"? Should he tell him, "Refusing to recognize that people's feelings matter has hurt you"? Should he say, "I'm sorry for that taunting comment fifteen years ago"? "I'm sorry I lost my temper. I'm sorry my single greatest moment of influence in your life has been to turn you into a sociopath."


	45. Tracks

_Tracks_

Sherlock disappeared again. This time Mycroft found him, with Lestrade's help. This time the finding was not pleasant for either brother. Even Mycroft was not prepared for the sight of Sherlock jerking and muttering in the corner of a filthy flat. Last time it had been an occasional, unpleasant habit, no more. This time his brother was in deep, terrible trouble, completely addicted, hallucinating, his arm covered in track marks. "Sherlock, Sherlock, you're going to ruin your brain!"

He thought he was hallucinating them along with all kinds of gremlins and fought as they hauled him out of the flat.


	46. Consequences

_Consequences_

"I should never have done it, Mycroft. I should never have dropped him from my cases. Look what boredom has done to him."

"Nonsense!" Mycroft exploded, earning a very surprised look. "This isn't _your_ fault! This isn't _my_ fault. If he isn't mature enough to handle himself like a decent human being, he deserves to be dropped from official police business, and if he isn't mature enough to find constructive ways to deal with his boredom, well, that's not our fault! He has behaved like a spoilt brat our entire lives, and it is about time he took the consequences!"


	47. Worthwhile

_Worthwhile_

He violently protested being taken to a drug rehab clinic, but this was one he could not escape from, designed for ex-SIS agents whose work had become too much for them. His violence soon died away, however, as he began to exhibit all the symptoms of cocaine withdrawal. When Mycroft visited, he always found him lying listlessly in bed, his eyes bleak and expressionless, dark depression swathed round him like a great, heavy cloud. If he spoke, it was with great irritability and an intense sense of being persecuted. Mycroft had taken away the only thing that made life worthwhile.


	48. Pretend

_Pretend_

"Adding another kidnapping to the list of your crimes against me, Mycroft?" Sherlock drawled. "Oh, don't look at me like that. Did you _really_ think I didn't have it figured out? Someone kidnaps me, holds me until I'm healthy, and then conveniently lets me escape? It could only be my control-obsessed brother who has little respect for my intelligence. Shows how little you've always thought of me. How many times have I had to tell you I don't need you in my life?"

"Sherlock, I'm your brother. You can't just pretend I'm not part of your life."

"Just watch me."


	49. Explode

_Explode_

Mycroft tried to be patient with his ill brother, but sometimes Sherlock goaded him past even his breaking point.

"I have tried to help you and protect you since the moment you were born, Sherlock! I've had to be your father and sometimes even your mother. I've tried to keep you out of trouble and help you get on in the world! Do you know how many times I took the blame for _your_ behaviour, how many times I've left my work to smooth something over for you? And you have never repaid me with anything but disobedience and contempt!"


	50. Enemies

_Enemies_

"_Help? Protect?_ All my life you have done nothing but push and goad and pressure me and judge me for not living up to the standard you set for yourself, Mycroft! From the very first moment it was always, 'Do this, Sherlock.' 'Don't do that, Sherlock.' 'Do what I tell you, Sherlock.' 'Be a miniature version of your perfect older brother, Sherlock.' Always weird, always wrong, always Mycroft's freakish little brother. Never good enough for you. Well, I'm done, Mycroft. I'm going to go far away where you and I need never meet. From now on, you are my enemy."


	51. Archenemy

_Archenemy_

Coldness settled over Mycroft as if Death had put his hand on his shoulder. Was that how it had always seemed to Sherlock, that he was always judging him for not being good enough? _I can explain!_ But it was too late. For the first time, he knew Sherlock really meant it.

He slowly rose to his feet. His voice didn't sound real. "Better make that archenemy, Sherlock. Neither of us is ordinary enough to be each other's enemy."

He returned automatically to his office. He sat down in his chair and doubled over with his hands over his eyes.

* * *

**Author's Note: This is the end of "Archenemy," but the story continues with "Not Your Housekeeper" (http:/www . fanfiction . net/s/6484644/1/Not_Your_Housekeeper), the tale of how Sherlock helps keep Mrs Hudson's husband on death row in Florida, with "Conscience (http:/www . fanfiction . net/s/6489370/1/Conscience), and with "Vulcan" (http:/www . fanfiction . net/s/6560821/1/Vulcan).**

**In case you're interested, here is how I see the timeline of Mycroft and Sherlock's lives from the beginning to the end of "Archenemy."**

1969: Mycroft born

1976: Sherlock born

1983: Dad dies

1984: Mycroft tells Sherlock he's a sociopath

1985: Mycroft goes to Oxford

1992: Sherlock goes to Cambridge

1993: Mummy dies

1994: The Gloria Scott Affair

1995: Sherlock graduates from Cambridge

1995-1998: Lestrade gives Sherlock cases to work on

1998-1999: Work falls off

1999-2000: Sherlock goes back on cocaine, Mycroft gets him off it, they become enemies


End file.
